


Traveler's Song

by PridetotheFall



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventures in Skyhold, Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Cliche, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Flirting, Freaky magic, God it's so cliche I can't even, Might be other romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Time Magic, also potential tragedy, and stuff, modern girl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PridetotheFall/pseuds/PridetotheFall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no way home. There was nothing worse than that reality to Rowan, not even the newfound power she cannot understand or control. Now she must endure. There is much to be done in this world she's been thrust into, hurts to heal and battles to fight. And most of all a loneliness, much like her own, buried deep in his eyes that she could try to touch.</p><p>There was no way home, but there was a chance at a new one. And there was him. And there was hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For the first time, Rowan believed in something greater. There was a primordial thrum singing in her ears, down to her bones. She felt the song in deep places she didn't know existed. Whether those places were within her or not, she couldn't say. Then, all at once, the song crowded into her, pushing against her being. 

There was a boom of something that may not have been sound at all. She was undone. Her being torn, broken, pulled out in every direction, then reformed all at once. There was nothing. Then, her heart beat. Once. Twice. Her feet touched solid ground. Rowan looked up to see through a billow of smoke. 

The room was full of people, people in robes and armor, with swords at their sides. For a brief moment Rowan thought of the renaissance fair she once went to. She thought of medieval England. She thought it might be a joke. 

But one does not suffer being torn apart and rebuilt by the universe itself so easily. Her legs would not stand. There was a crowd of voices as she fell to her knees. A hand caught her shoulder to keep her from hitting the ground. She knew nothing else.

***

In that hazy space between dreaming and waking, everything seemed good and normal. Then Rowan opened her eyes to see she was not at home. Not even close. 

She sat up faster than she should have. She felt a moment of dizziness that swayed her steps as she went for the closed door. She was alone in the room, but she remembered seeing people before she fainted. Surely they were the reason she awoke in a bed. They must have answers. 

The din of music and chatter rose from beneath the floor. Rowan must have been on the second floor. But the second floor of what? Where was she?

Her heart thrummed at the thought. She remained locked in place only steps from the door out of her small room. It was safer in here, safer not to know. True, she couldn't stay here forever but the thought of the alternative, of finding something terrifying on the other side of the door, set her stomach churning. 

So she stayed standing in the middle of the room. A headache beat at the door of her mind. She would have to go out there. There wasn't really a choice. 

Before she could muster the courage, the door opened. All of her fears were proven. The woman looked startled to see her standing there. Rowan could only stare, slack jawed. It couldn't be real. Her ears . . . her ears were . . . and her eyes were just a bit too big. She thought of cosplayers. This had to be a convention of some kind. 

But no, they would have sent her to a hospital, and her ears looked too real, too natural on her. It couldn't be. 

The woman opened her mouth in speech. The language that fell from her lips wasn't English or anything else Rowan had ever heard. Rowan couldn't take it. She ran. The woman, whatever she was, gave an undignified yelp as Rowan rushed past her. 

She wasn't sure what she was looking for. Maybe it was answers, maybe just an escape. Rowan clambered down the steps and straight into a room packed full of people. A tavern. 

She looked frantically for the door, for an escape. Two steps and she knocked into a man shorter than her by at least two heads. He wasn't just short, or simply stocky. He was built widely, out rather than up. And like the woman, it looked natural, even if it was strange. A dwarf? Which made the woman an elf? Was this even real? _Could_ it be real?

Head spinning, Rowan missed even trying to understand what he said. She was running again. There had to be a door, a way out. She needed a way out. 

A shout sounded behind her. There was the door just a few feet away. She sprinted in desperation, mind completely focused. A shadow fell in front of her and Rowan ran face first into a brick wall. She stumbled back and landed hard on her butt. 

The person was double the height of most men and three times the width. His skin a deep shade of blue and on his head . . . . He said something, not out of anger but, it seemed, amusement. 

Rowan's eyes rolled back. Her head hit the floor.

When she awoke, it was with an even greater headache than before and a strong sense of deja vu. Was she really stuck in this place?

“Ginam et rak?” 

Rowan jumped out of her bed and was on the opposite wall in a heartbeat. She searched, but there was nothing nearby to use as a weapon. The man seated by the window looked too amused to take her seriously anyway. 

He was human, at least. Rowan wondered if they made sure he was there because of her reaction before. Not that he was any more normal than the others. His clothes and look were strange, and he couldn't speak her language either. There was nothing familiar about this place at all. 

Her headache flared in the silence and Rowan pressed a palm to her forehead. The man put down his book and stood with a few rushed words.

“ _No, stay back!_ ” Rowan said, placing a hand up in warning in the distance between them. For a moment, she was surprised that it was English that left her mouth, considering she'd spent the last four years in Japan. But he did not look even a little Japanese and she was definitely not in Japan, so maybe her brain automatically compensated for it.

The man stopped. A noise of understanding left his throat. He bowed with a flourish and placed a hand on his chest. “Dorian.”

Okay, so his name was Dorian. Rowan bowed in return in case that was the proper greeting, though hers resembled the fluid straightness of the Japanese. “Rowan.”

It took several minutes of signs and stilted words for him to convey his message: _We are friends and we don't want to hurt you._

Dorian signaled for her to wait in the room. Rowan sat on the bed and dropped her face into her hands. How did she come to be in this place? The memories were hazy at best. All the important information was there: her name, where she'd come from, what school she went to, how she went to Japan, her job there. But there was nothing in her memory about how she went from urban Japan to dungeons and dragons. Oh god, did they have dragons here?

The door opened and Rowan stood on impulse. The sight of Dorian made her tense shoulders fall. There was another man too, another human. He looked like a real knight. The knight bowed in greeting. She returned the gesture. “Maxwell.”

Maxwell? That name was almost normal. Much like with Dorian, it took several gestures and slowed words to say what he wanted. _Come with us to our home. We will help you._

What choice did she really have? If there was a way out of this place, Rowan couldn't even communicate enough to find it. She was stuck. They all knew it. She nodded her consent to the idea. Maxwell smiled. Dorian spoke, rubbed his stomach, and gestured out the door. _Let's go eat._

Rowan hesitated. She was starving, that was true. But she didn't know if she could handle another round of elves and dwarves and . . . whatever that thing with the horns was. Still, if she was stuck here she, once again, had very little choice. 

Dorian took her by the wrist and the three of them left for the main area of the tavern. It was much quieter than before and going by the darkness outside it was either very late or very early. 

Rowan decided it was late. There were still people at the long tables, some passed out drunk, some talking, and two people were sweeping up the night's mess. 

They sat close to the large fireplace. Rowan was given a tankard, a hunk of bread, and something that resembled the Guinness stew she'd had in Ireland once. For a moment her spirits were lifted, but from the first spoonful they fell again. It tasted nothing like what she remembered. There wasn't even any salt in it. Perhaps she expected too much.

Once again, Rowan was left to her thoughts. Dorian and Maxwell had their own conversation, and Rowan was almost reminded of her first days in Japan when she could barely speak to anyone. But there was no internet here to look up quick lessons, no translators, no pocket dictionaries. She was utterly and completely alone.

She barely ate. Her stomach begged for food but her nerves and stress refused it. Rowan ate as much as she could, which only amounted to a few spoonfuls, then turned towards the fireplace. 

She needed a plan, a direction. Language would have to come first. She needed to know where this place was, how she got here, and if there was any way back. If there wasn't . . . well she would have to deal with that later. 

Rowan stopped fidgeting with her necklace and signaled to Dorian. She made a motion like opening a scroll, then mimed writing. He understood easily enough. Maxwell watched, curiosity in his eyes as Dorian retrieved the requested items. 

He returned with a quill, a small bottle of ink, and a ripped piece of parchment. Rowan patted the seat next to her, asking him to sit. She had never used a quill. It scratched more than she would have thought but it was definitely useable. She wrote an 'a', then sounded it out to Dorian before giving him the quill and pointing at the parchment. It took a moment before his eyes lit in understanding and he wrote the corresponding symbol for the sound. He looked to Rowan for confirmation and she nodded emphatically. With a short laugh, he looked at Maxwell and made a comment. The knight responded with a nod and a smile in her direction. 

Rowan made a motion with her hand, urging him to continue. It didn't take long to write out the whole alphabet with the corresponding pronunciation in English atop each letter. 

“ _Okay, that's the first step_ ,” she mumbled. She turned to Dorian again, who was curiously watching her actions. Rowan placed a hand on her chest, as he had done earlier. “ _My name is Rowan._ ”

He nodded slowly, then mimicked her action. “Dorian rink eta.”

“ _Good_.” She nodded and wrote it down. Maxwell spoke up, saying something to Dorian with an edge of snark. He stood, bowed to Rowan again, and left. Dorian smiled at her before she could ask for the next sample sentence, and placed a hand atop her head. 

He spoke, then made several motions. _No more tonight. Leaving in the morning. Have to sleep now._ Where were they leaving to? Rowan couldn't get an answer. Well, she couldn't understand the answer. Dorian left her. 

She didn't know what to do with the quill and ink, so she left them there. The parchment, she took and folded gently before sticking it in the back pocket of her jeans. Rowan was suddenly cold when she left the fireside. Her light sweater, jeans, and short fashion boots weren't warm enough for where she'd ended up. She couldn't see any snow outside, but it felt cold enough for it. Probably. She'd never seen snow before, so she couldn't say for sure. If this really was some kind of medieval England, there would be snow. Eventually. 

Rowan returned to her room, kicked off her shoes, and laid down to sleep. The fear and loneliness crept into her mind almost immediately. She didn't sleep. Her mind was too full of monsters and unanswerable questions. What if? What about her job? Was she missed? Was this even real? Yes, it had to be. There was a thrum at the back of her head that hadn't left since she first awoke here. It still wouldn't leave.

A light knock sounded on her door as dawn barely peeked over the horizon. Rowan answered it. Dorian was there, looking almost as tired as she felt. He motioned behind himself. It was time to leave. 

She pulled on her shoes again and followed him down the steps to the door. She was instantly wracked with shivers from the chill morning air. Yup, definitely colder than she was used to. 

Rowan stopped short. She stared hard at the sky, at the swirl of green wrapped in clouds far off in the distance. What the hell was that? Was that even normal? She looked away after a minute, head pounding. She shook her head and, miraculously, the feeling dissipated. She moved to catch up with Dorian. 

The smell of the stables greeted her before the sight of it. There was a small crowd of people in front of the stable, tacking up horses and tying supplies to their steeds. Maxwell was among them. He saw her and grinned before making a comment to Dorian. The mustached man looked back at Rowan, mild surprise in his eyes, and said something in return. Maxwell took something from the back of one of the horses and threw the bundle of clothing at her. 

“ _Thank you_!” Rowan put on the robe and felt much better, if only for a moment. She scrutinized the horses. One brayed and lifted his front hooves in anticipation. 

Dorian held out an arm, as if inviting her to go first. Rowan shook her head. No, no horses. She'd ridden a horse only once in seventh grade and had come out with a broken arm and a phobia. Dorian laughed at her and jerked his thumb towards the horses. He probably didn't believe that she wouldn't ride one. They didn't have cars and planes here. This was the only form of transportation. 

Rowan fumbled with her fears as a woman approached. She was well dressed, regal even, and looked down at Rowan with skepticism and more than enough pomp as she spoke. She produced a small bag that she offered to Rowan. 

“ _My purse_!” Rowan practically snatched it from her hands. She would have hugged the lady, if not for the fact that she didn't seem to be the hugging type. Instead, Rowan bowed three times with just as many 'thank you's. Her gratitude earned her a small smile from the woman before she left. 

Rowan threw the purse over her shoulder so it rested at her hip, hardly caring that they'd kept it from her, and opened the zipper to look inside. Her wallet, her phone, a couple of receipts and papers, some chapstick, a just-in-case tampon, two pens, a pencil, and her Hello Kitty notepad. Not much, and probably far more than this ancient world should have access to, but it was enough to set tears in Rowan's eyes. 

Maxwell spoke then, his voice ringing in a strong command from his saddle. They were leaving. Rowan looked to Dorian in her panic. The man was already seated on a chestnut horse and led it to stop beside her. She backed away instinctively, waiting for the horse to try and hit her. It didn't. The others filtered past on their own horses, seven in total, including Dorian. The man held his hand out to her and there was a bit of urgency in his tone. She shook her head again. No, she couldn't do it. 

Two hands gripped her waist and lifted her higher than should have been possible to seat her behind Dorian in the saddle. She instantly gripped the man in front of her with her whole body, as if her life depended on it. Rowan looked to see who had moved her and came eye to eye with the horned . . . man? creature? In any case, he laughed at her and began walking. She noticed he was the only one without a horse. She also noticed the great axe on his back. It was bigger than her. She shivered. 

She jerked forward as the horse cantered into line behind the others. Rowan gripped Dorian tighter. The man said something, probably commenting on her less-than-ladylike hold. She didn't want to give him the wrong impression, but at this point it didn't matter to her nearly as much as her current position on top of a horse. Rowan pressed her forehead against Dorian's back and concentrated on breathing deeply. No need to start hyperventilating. Unexpectedly, the added concentration only intensified her headache.

A smooth voice spoke to Dorian from their left and Rowan peeked up to see who had said it. Her lips set and eyes widened. Ears. Big, pointy ears. The fact that he was bald only made it more obvious. His eyebrow twitched up at her expression. It really shouldn't have been a big deal, but being faced with how fantastical this world could be was still too much for her. 

He continued to watch her face as he spoke again, this time in another tongue, one that reminded her of the soft vowels of Japanese, but held something . . . something almost magical that soothed her fears. Her breathing stopped for a bare moment. She wasn't sure how to react and so, like a child, she turned her face away and pressed into Dorian's back again. His laugh vibrated through her chest and he said something that sounded snarky and almost demeaning to the other man. The elf responded calmly, unperturbed, but Rowan felt bad for her slight. 

She turned back to face the elf and bowed as best she could. If he used another language, so would she. “ _I understand,_ ” she said in Japanese. “ _Thank you for your kindness._ ”

The elf smiled and nodded back at her. He turned his eyes to Dorian and said something. An observation. Dorian responded, curiosity in his tone. He patted her leg to get her attention and made a motion with his hand of something coming out of his mouth. 

“Kenat.” He repeated the word, and the motion, before holding up his hand and counting off one, two, then three. 

Language. How many languages did she know. Rowan nodded to show she understood. She held up three fingers. It was a bit of a fudge. She'd started learning Korean, but didn't know enough yet to say she was fluent so she didn't include it, but her meager knowledge there made up for her Spanish, which she only learned in school and never used, that she did include. It seemed to impress them favorably anyway. 

Rowan dug in her purse and pulled out one pen and her notepad. She shifted, pressing herself against Dorian again to reach into her back pocket for the parchment there. He grumbled incoherently for a second. She could feel the eyes of the elf on her. Another person was paying attention now too, another woman who looked far more like a soldier than the regal woman who returned her purse. There was a harsh light of distrust in her eyes. She looked like she was ready to lop Rowan's head off at the first sign of trouble. 

She tried not to pay attention. Dorian was here, and so far he was a friend. Rowan unfolded the parchment and smoothed it against the man's back. She held up her notepad and readied her pen.

“Kennat?” she repeated. 

Dorian shook his head. “Kenat.”

Rowan looked over the symbols in front of her and wrote down what she thought it would be before showing it to him. “Kenat?” 

Dorian was instantly fascinated by her paper. He took the pad and flipped through the small white sheets, before looking at the picture on front. There were questions on his tongue, but none she could answer. Yet. 

Rowan passed him her pen, which he also spent a moment admiring, before correcting her letters. There was an extra diagonal line on the upper right hand side of the second letter. She wrote it down again, then wrote it with the line, asking about the difference. Was it like a German umlaut or a Japanese maru, something that modified the sound? 

He couldn't explain it. She couldn't understand it. That would be for later then. She made a note in her book. Rowan drilled Dorian again, picking up from where they left off last night. She tried to get sample sentences to find out the verb placement and tenses, whether they had articles, possessives, pronouns. Thankfully he was willing to oblige. 

She was writing down the word for tree when the ever present throb in the back of her head flared. Rowan gasped her pain and her pen dropped into her lap so she could clutch her head. What was that all of a sudden? She didn't even do-

It beat again, harder this time, as if someone had mistaken her head for a drum. Rowan groaned. Her things fell to the ground and she lost her grip on the horse. Dorian caught her arm before she fell and pulled to a stop. He called out to the others.

Rowan squinted up. She had never known a headache to have 'direction' but she could feel the pound of it coming into her head from the right. It overtook her again, this time like a flex of muscle or a heartbeat. When she recovered she saw it, a green haze from the bottom of a rocky ridge. Rowan gripped Dorian's arm and pointed at the strange anomaly. 

They must have known what it was. Everyone dismounted and reached for their weapons. The horned man pulled her off the horse so Dorian could get down and reach for a staff she hadn't noticed. Rowan fell to her knees, screaming as another round of pain slammed into her head. It was stronger somehow. 

Maxwell knelt in front of her. Hurried words were exchanged. And Rowan could feel it. She could hear the crackle from his left hand, see the same green light, but she could feel it too. In her head and closing her chest. She couldn't breathe. She felt sick. Rowan shoved his left arm away. It hurt so much. Hurt in ways she'd never known could. 

Maxwell retreated. Another hard thrum passed through her temples. It was too much. Everything shut down. She fell to darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Rowan awoke to the stilted rhythm of the horse's steps. Her head still hurt but it was dull again, like before. She sat back only to realize she was tied at the waist to Dorian. It must have been to keep her from falling off. Rowan let her head fall against his back again. She was still tired, drained. And now her back hurt as well as, strangely, her inner thighs. She blamed it on the horse.

Dorian said something to her, but she only grunted. She wasn't even willing to try right now. Her stomach gurgled loudly. Dorian snorted. 

She hadn't been out for long. It was still morning, from what she could tell. In fact, it was probably around eight or nine, the time she would be going in for work. Not anymore. She might never go to work again. There weren't any eight to five jobs here. 

They didn't stop until lunchtime, when the sun was high overhead. The others looked like it was hot to them, but for Rowan the weather was almost bearable. Dorian motioned for her to dismount first. Rowan hesitated but she wanted off the horse more than anything. Dorian moved his foot so she could use the stirrup. She swung one leg over its backside, careful not to touch it, and rooted her toe around for the ground. She found it, but her other foot got stuck in the stirrup and she fell right on her ass, one leg dangling from the horse's side. Dorian snorted. Rowan disentangled herself and scooted away from the horse as fast as she could so it couldn't attack. 

Her companion dismounted gracefully, then bowed to her with a mocking flourish as Rowan dusted herself off. She rolled her eyes, though her face was red, and left to find somewhere to pee in private. Well, as private as it could get in the wilderness.

They watered the horses and set up a small fire. It was the elf she'd met earlier that lit the wood with a flick of his wrist. 

No, no, no, that wasn't right. He had to have something in his hand. It couldn't be ma- no, she wouldn't even say the word. Not yet. 

Everyone else seemed to know what they were doing, and no one gave her directions (not that they could) so Rowan was feeling useless enough to give a lot of attention to the elf's hand. She was waiting for something, some answer other than the obvious. Anything. 

There was a dwarf in the group. The same dwarf she'd knocked into yesterday. He was the one to finish his duties first and took note of Rowan's attention. He immediately pointed it out to the elf. Rowan figured it out when he looked across at her curiously. So much for elves and dwarves not getting along. She blushed and looked for Dorian to rescue her, somehow, but the man was helping unpack food from one of the sacks. 

The elf sat down next to her and Rowan covered her face with a hand. “ _Oh god._ ”

He said something to her, but Rowan just shook her head. How could she explain? At this point, she couldn't. Still, the curiosity gnawed and twitched at her fingers. She looked up at him, then his hand. It couldn't be. True, there were a lot of 'couldn't be's in this world so far. The fact that he was an elf was one of them. And that green light. And Maxwell's hand. But still. 

Rowan pointed at his hand, asking to look. He held it out to her, probably just as curious about her intentions as she was of his pyro abilities. She looked it over, turned his palm up, then down, looked up his sleeve. Aside from callouses, from both the weather and probably his work, there was nothing. 

“ _You made fire_ ,” Rowan said, pointing at his hand, then the flames. He laughed. Rowan dropped his hand and looked back at the fire, almost pouting. It wasn't her fault she'd never seen it before. Someone else spoke, the female elf. She made a face. Still, Rowan had no idea what she was trying to say. 

“Rowan,” the elf next to her said. She looked as he held up the same hand she'd been observing. His fingers twitched and fire burst to life in his palm.

“ _Jesus_!” Rowan pushed back so fast she fell over. Fucking magic. They had fucking magic. There were probably dragons too. And zombies if she was _really_ lucky. 

Dorian joined in on the laughter at her expense as Rowan sat up again. The fire in the elf's hand was gone. The mustached man handed her an egg and a piece of cheese, then held his hand up in front of her. Just like before, fire burned at his fingertips, though his was stronger than the elf's and little sparks danced from its tendrils. 

Rowan stared, even as she pulled back. He moved his hand and it was gone. Great, so Dorian had it too. She motioned to ask her question: _Could everyone do that?_

No, just Dorian, the elf, and the regal lady. The elf said something, a wry smile on his lips. Dorian shrugged and handed him his lunch. 

As Rowan devoured her meager meal (the egg was hardboiled), she realized she didn't know any names other than Dorian and Maxwell. These people were obviously a group so it was probably best to know everyone. 

“You are?” Rowan said, testing the new language on her tongue. The elf smiled at her attempt.

“Solas.”

Rowan turned to the dwarf who was seated nearby, a little away from the fire. “You are?” she repeated.

“Varric.”

She looked to the others, all busy in someway or another. It seemed Maxwell, the warrior woman, and the horned man were having a meeting. 

“Solas?” Rowan asked, then pointed at the regal woman next to the horses. “You are?”

“She is,” he corrected. Rowan nodded. “Viviene.”

One by one, he gave her their names until they came to the man with the horns. He pursed his lips as if telling her the name would be a difficult task. The bearded man, Blackwall, snorted and said something, as if confirming that Solas would have a hard time of it.

Solas pointed to the metal on Varric's crossbow, then to Cassandra's shield, repeating the same word. Rowan nodded her understanding. He then pointed to the horns of the man in question and made a motion of charging. It reminded her of the stance a linebacker would take (though Solas was much too small for that). He said another word, then repeated them together. Rowan couldn't understand the second, so she decided it would be 'horn' for the time being. Metal Horn. Weird name. 

She thanked Solas for his help and the elf nodded back. 

Their rest was short, and they were back on their horses within an hour. They traveled for the rest of the day, only stopping when the sun began to set. Rowan wanted to help, and tried, but she was fairly useless without any knowledge or experience. She'd gone backpacking for a week once, but that paled in comparison to this.

They had a hot stew for dinner, and Rowan was given a kind of sleeping bag with a small lumpy pillow. Laying down made her back feel better but there was nothing to be done about the pain in her legs from traveling so far on horseback. She placed her purse beside her head and pulled out her phone. Varric and Metal Horn were talking behind her in soft voices at the fire. Rowan flipped the phone between her fingers, looking over the glass front and smooth back. She wanted to turn it on but she knew not to. Not here. Besides, she only had one charge. There was no way to recharge it once it died. 

She thought of the messages she would never receive, the pictures she would never see, the friends she would never say goodbye to. Tears welled in her eyes at the thought. She couldn't look at it anymore. She shoved the phone back in her purse, pulled the blanket further up her face, and tried her hardest to keep her sobs silent. 

They traveled like that for four days. Dawn to dusk they rode, and as they went it became colder. Snow was on the ground, first in small clumps, then in mounds on the sides of the road. At the first sight of it, Rowan let out a squeal of excitement Dorian almost took as a sign of attack. She tried to explain that snow was new to her. She'd never seen it before. Of course, it was just another oddity of her's to them. 

Rowan also lost much of her fear of horses, mostly out of necessity, and because none of them tried to attack her. She became better at mounting and dismounting, though she still fell more than once. Still, in those long hours on horseback, she tried to learn and categorize more of the language. It was the student in her that made her write everything down. Education was assuredly less common here, so her devotion to the pen and paper was probably another strange thing. But she learned. Rowan now held a small vocabulary of common words, and she knew the placement of the verb in a sentence as well as future, past, and present tenses. That was something. 

She became more useful to the camp, quickly learning what needed to be done when they stopped. Everyone welcomed the help. 

At night, Rowan would fall asleep holding her phone. She wouldn't turn it on, but she liked the feel and weight of it in her hand. It was familiar, like home. The only piece of home she really had. 

Hygiene was fast becoming a concern to her. She had time before her period was going to start (god, what was she going to do then?) but wearing the same thing for four days was getting smelly. Not to mention she hadn't brushed her teeth. The best she could do was gargle with water. Her hair, already curly and generally unruly, was knotting beyond all help. She tried to run her fingers through it, even spending a whole morning working out the knots, but it was nothing compared to a good comb. She was reminded of her life of luxury, and finally realized why all the women had short hair.

On the third night they were awoken by a shout of alarm from Sera. Rowan was up with the rest of them. They were being attacked. Everyone reached for their weapons, and Rowan barely had time to realize she had no protection before a blue glow washed over her skin. Dorian had cast a spell of some sort. He ordered her to stay put as he stood at the edge of firelight. Ice and fire spit from the end of his staff. This was the first Rowan had seen any of them battle. She knew they must have, given their weapons, but things had been quiet up to that point. 

It wasn't difficult to see, but it was hard to watch. The bandits, or so she assumed, were outnumbered. They never made it to the camp itself. She knew it wasn't pretty here. There were terrible things she'd never had to witness that were everyday occurrences here. If someone attacks you, you don't tie them up and call the police or put out a warrant. They're either dead or left for dead. Or if you're not strong enough, you're the one dead. 

So Rowan saw it all. She trembled next to the heat of the fire as the others returned. There was blood on Cassandra's sword and Metal Horn's axe. It was when Blackwall set down his shield and a tooth tumbled out from the grooves of it that Rowan had to excuse herself to retch behind a tree. 

When she was done, she kicked some dirt over it to cover the stench and returned to the fire. She took a sip of water from a canteen and stared listlessly into the flames. No one came to comfort her. Why would they? They all needed sleep for the long day of travel. It was just life. 

But this wasn't her life. This wasn't where she was supposed to be. She grew up in America, one of the cushiest places in the world, and decided to live in Japan, a place known for its cleanliness and clear cut rules. This was not either of those things. This was a place of death and body odor and meals that came close to rotting because it couldn't be refrigerated. 

She wanted to go home. She _needed_ to go home. It began to hurt. She'd been homesick before, but she'd never known it to physically ache in her bones. Not to mention the damn headache she'd had ever since she got here. Thankfully, it hadn't flared up again like that one time. Rowan was grateful for that mercy, at least.

Blackwall sat down at the fire as well. It was his turn on watch. He said nothing. She didn't want him to. She buried her face in her knees and relished the silence. Rowan didn't sleep again that night. 

They arrived at their destination mid-afternoon on the fourth day. The snow had lost its newness to Rowan, but the sight of the small village, the place with real buildings, was comforting and almost had a 'winter wonderland' feel. From a distance, at least. When they got into town there was nothing mystical about it. There was a smell of coal and feces on the wind. 

“Lovely,” she muttered. 

They were greeted with excited whispers and happy greetings. Now it made Rowan wonder what errand they'd been on when she appeared. Obviously they were successful. They stopped just outside of the gates, across from a few long tents. She could hear the clamor of swords. It must have been the barracks. Did that mean this place was at war?

And here the swirling green mass in the sky was closer, clearer. If she looked at it too long her head hurt, so she didn't. The thing must be some kind of magic. 

They dismounted and their horses were taken away and cared for. A man in armor was jogging to meet them. He saluted Maxwell and the two hurried inside, Cassandra the only one to follow. The others discussed what to do. Vivienne, Solas, and Blackwall went off on their own. The rest ushered Rowan with them to the tavern for drinks. She wasn't too excited about alcohol, but as long as she wasn't on a damn horse she was happy. 

Metal Horn and Sera were adamant that she drink. One wasn't enough, of course. She managed three before flipping them off, apparently not an insult in this world, and leaving them to their drinks and loudness. Rowan didn't know where to go, but the alcohol made her numb to the cold so she stood outside. It was dark already, the town lit with firelight. But it was quiet out here, even if it did smell a bit. 

She touched her purse at her hip and reached inside for her phone. She rolled it between her hands and rubbed her fingers over the smoothness.

“What is that?”

Rowan jumped. The phone flew from her hands but she managed to catch it before it fell to the ground. She let out a breath, heart pounding, and set bleary eyes on the man that spoke. Solas gave her an amused look. 

“What is it?” he repeated. “I've seen you with it before.”

Rowan frowned. How could she explain it? She didn't want to, and there was a lot of it she shouldn't, but she didn't need anyone hounding her on suspicion.

“It's . . . mine,” she said, utilizing her weak vocabulary. “I don't have anything. This. It's mine.”

“I see.” His head tilted just so. Solas spoke again, in his own language, the one that brought feelings with the words. Rowan could feel it. There was sadness in his tone and loneliness. The loneliness that ached in her bones at night. She knew it and she felt it in what he said.

Tears were on the edges of her eyes when she nodded at him. Solas smiled back. It was a smile of understanding, not of comfort, and it was almost as deep as his words. Rowan closed her eyes for a moment. 

“ _This is a terrible place. I almost hate it_ ,” she said. It was silly but she reserved Japanese for Solas. She was teaching Dorian English by him teaching her. But there was something special about this. He'd spoken to her in his own language a few times and, despite Sera being an elf, she was sure no one understood him. She liked that they had that in common. 

“ _But, there are good things too. You're a good thing, I think. And I . . . I want to go home so much it's painful. There is no way home though, is there? I have to do my best with what I have. I have to accept this place._ ”

Solas said nothing. There was nothing for him to say. Rowan wiped her eyes, wished him goodnight, and went back inside the tavern.


	3. Chapter 3

Rowan awoke not with a headache, but with a hangover. She groaned, hand falling limp from the table, and sat up. Her back and neck hurt. From the angle she'd been sleeping at, she wasn't surprised. Apparently, she'd fallen asleep on Metal Horn, whose face was pressed against the wooden table. 

She stood on woozy legs to find water for her parched throat. She stepped over Sera on the floor and filled a tankard with water, downed it all and went for another. The urge to pee was too strong, so she hightailed it out into the early morning cold to find the latrine. It was just as disgusting as she thought it might be but it was her only option. Rowan held her breath and did her business, then returned to the tavern in search of food. 

She wondered who payed for everything. This was a business, wasn't it? They needed money and she sure didn't have any. Then again, in her hazy memory of the night before, she recalled Metal Horn and Dorian both tossing a few coins on the table. It made her think, though, and she frowned. She would need to make money. Somehow. 

Rowan grabbed an apple off the front table, took another good drink of water, and went back outside. Few people were up this early. She probably wouldn't be either if it wasn't for her head. As she ate her apple, she wandered the town. It was a testament to how much she'd adjusted to the cold. It still wasn't pleasant, but she wasn't cowering next to a fire under several blankets. 

Rowan ended up outside the gate, at the barracks. A few targets were set up on the far side of it for the archers. She remembered the time she tried out archery when she was younger, when it was still silly fun to pretend she lived in a time like this. Now it might be a necessity. 

It was a stupid thought. Her head was pounding and she could barely concentrate enough to see straight. But she wanted to try it. Rowan picked up a bow and quiver outside one of the tents. She would just borrow it for a minute, just to see. 

She took a deep breath then positioned her body so her left side was facing the target. She held the bow up and reached back for an arrow. It was harder than she thought. She grasped at air three times before she got one. Then loaded it into the notch and pulled back hard towards her right ear. 

The wind was blowing hard from her left. To hit the target she would need to face the arrow into the wind. She made the best estimate she could, pointed up and over, and let it fly. She didn't hear the thunk, but it at least hit the outside of the ring. 

“ _Not bad for having a crap hangover_ ,” she said. She tried twice more. The second fell short, and the third got a little closer in. It wasn't good enough for fighting but it was a start. 

As Rowan pulled back the fourth arrow, someone shouted angrily close behind her. She lost control. The arrow dug straight into the ground and the bow string bounced against her left arm. Her layer of thick clothing offered protection against it but she dropped the bow out of reflex.

The man snatched up the bow on the ground, spouting more angry words at her, and tore the quiver from her back. Rowan guessed she borrowed from the wrong person. He yelled at her a minute longer, gesturing wildly, then stormed off. She returned to the camp, almost sulking, and decided she wanted a bow of her own. 

Dorian greeted her in her walk back up the hill. He motioned for her to follow and led her to the building at the far back of the town. He pushed one of the large red doors open and walked inside. 

It was a church. Rowan wasn't religious herself, but she knew a church when she saw one. It looked almost catholic, even. There were candles lit everywhere and people in robes chanting, speaking, praying. Dorian opened another door to the right. Inside was a small library. There were only five bookshelves but it was something. She knew why he'd brought her here. Rowan thanked him, pulled out her notepad and the parchment from her first day, and set to work. 

For that short time, nothing changed. Rowan would go into the church, the Chantry, as she learned, and study, translating what she could. She would spend equal parts of her time in the tavern, listening to people talk, picking up words and intonation more than before. She was able to ask Dorian how to get a bow. He said he'd look into it. Three days later, it was Maxwell who handed one to her. She was to take it as a gift. He introduced her to one of the guardsmen, who gave her a few lessons on form and technique. Rowan tried to practice every day. Eventually, she was able to hit the center target.

Another thing that didn't change was the headaches. Or headache. It was only one, and it hadn't stopped since the beginning. Rowan had never had migraines before. Her diet, while less rich, wasn't completely terrible. She'd even gone to a healer but they couldn't do anything. The fact that it began when she arrived made her wonder, but she had no answers. She didn't even know what questions to ask. It wasn't detrimental and so she bared it and moved on. Most of the time she could ignore it. She was even getting better at that.

Some nights, when she was wrapped in her thin blanket and wishing for warmer weather, when the reality of where she was tugged at her sanity, Rowan turned on her phone and allowed herself one song on the lowest volume setting before shutting it off. The battery was dying quickly. Soon, it wouldn't turn on again.

She didn't see much of Solas in that time. It was a bit disheartening. Not only was there a comfort in his understanding, more than anyone else understood her loneliness, anyway, but she missed hearing him speak his language, the words that also produced feelings. When she asked Dorian about his absence, he said the elf was probably sleeping. Rowan felt like she was missing something. He brushed off an explanation and she was left to wonder.

Two and a half weeks after they arrived in Haven, a small host of people appeared at the gate. Rowan was at the Chantry when a horn sounded. People began to shuffle outside and so she followed. Maxwell appeared behind her and stepped past.

He was the leader here, Rowan found out one day. She often wondered why they let her stay here without money or a worthy skill set. Finding out everyone followed Maxwell's orders made her question even more. Not that the man wasn't kind. He was, and to Rowan it was far more than she felt she deserved. But thinking about how much he did (she saw how often he was in the Chantry with his advisors), how much everyone did, made her wonder why they gave her so much mercy. 

It also brought to mind the circumstances that brought her into this world. She couldn't remember much. Perhaps they knew more about it than she did. Perhaps Maxwell's kindness was really some form of guilt. That was all speculation, but it wasn't too outlandish to avoid consideration. 

Maxwell greeted the people that came, a woman at the fore. They all carried staffs like Dorian and Solas. Mages, then. He spoke up to address everyone, voice filled with an authority she'd never heard before: the authority of a warrior. Rowan wished she could understand him. She heard something about tomorrow, something about marching, traveling, something about the great tear in the sky. When he finished they cheered. Rowan snuck back inside to finish her studies. 

The next morning, as promised, Maxwell led a small company in the direction of the green tear. He took with him all of her friends and familiars so Rowan was left alone in the Chantry. Her heart wasn't in it today. She'd been having trouble sleeping, and the books she was trying to read turned out to be very dry, so by midmorning she'd fallen asleep on her work.

A great thrum inside her head woke her. She groaned and sat up. Not this, not again. But it was only the one. Still, she heard cheering outside and feet shuffling against the stone floors towards the door. Called by curiosity, Rowan once again followed the people that knew what was going on. 

It wasn't hard to figure out what happened. The great green mass in the sky was gone. So it was a threat. Something the mages helped defeat from what Rowan could guess. 

There was a whole new rush of action. Excitement buzzed and people moved to finish duties as fast as possible. By the time Maxwell's party returned at sunset, Haven was bursting with happiness and alcohol. 

People kept trying to hand Rowan drinks, telling her to celebrate, clapping her on the shoulder. She didn't feel much like drinking, but it was nice to see people that once shot sideways glances at her accepting her presence so readily. It probably helped that most of them were drunk. 

She approached Maxwell. He stood on a ledge looking over the large bonfire in the center of Haven. He looked pleased, but still grim. 

“You fixed it?” Rowan asked. 

He glanced down at her. “I think so.”

Of course he couldn't explain what _it_ was or why he was unsure if everything was alright, but Rowan took the answer with a smile. “Good job.”

“Thank you.”

Cassandra approached as well. She gave Rowan a brief nod before speaking with Maxwell. They didn't interact much, she and Cassandra, but the woman had stopped looking at her like she might jump up and murder people about a week ago. Sometimes, Rowan liked to think of her as Professor McGonagall. It made her giggle every time, and every time Cassandra gave her a look that made the comparison more real. Every time she would laugh harder. One day, Rowan wanted to explain it to the poor woman. 

A signal horn sounded. They looked beyond Haven's borders to see firelight flickering down the mountainside. 

“What is that?” Rowan asked, heart already pounding at the thought of what it could be. She received no answer. Maxwell and Cassandra left to the front gate to meet with Cullen. 

Rowan scrambled back to her quarters. She wanted to be wrong, wanted her fear to be wrong, but there was no harm in preparing. She pulled on her quiver and took her bow in hand. 

She was not wrong. The celebration had been sucked from the air and in its wake there was terror. Rowan stopped to think where she should stand. She was not a soldier, she had no rank, but she needed to fight, didn't she? 

“ _It's like a video game_ ,” she breathed to calm herself. Her hands were shaking too much to be of any use. “ _Just like a video game_.”

Except she could die. And there was no reset button, no start at the last save point, no points for killing the enemy. It was kill them before they kill you. Most of the fighting was beyond Haven's walls, but a few managed to get past the gate to attack the people inside. 

Rowan readied her bow and immediately faltered. That thing wasn't human. It had the shape of a man, perhaps it used to be one, but even from a distance Rowan could see the veined, bulbous skin cracked with red crystals that sprouted from every possible pore. That wasn't from any fantasy she'd ever seen. 

The creature swiped at the soldier standing up to it, breaking the man's shield to splinters. The next attack would be fatal. Rowan held up her bow again. Her hands trembled up to her arms. She let fly an arrow. It missed by a good six inches. She took another arrow and tried again. If she didn't hit it, didn't distract that thing, that soldier was dead. 

She hit its arm, the arrow protruding right through the other side. It was enough. The thing treated it more like a mosquito bite than a wound, but it drew its attention so the soldier could spear his sword through its throat. The creature fell. 

Rowan couldn't stop shaking, but she couldn't stop either. There were more getting through into Haven. Some looked like men, some didn't. She managed to shoot another one, a man this time, straight through the neck. She wasn't proud. If she had time to think, she might have thrown up. 

Then, overhead, a screeching roar sounded just before fire razed the ground.

“ _Fucking dragons_!” Rowan wasn't ready for this. Thankfully, the fire missed her. She ran around it, away from the tavern, and back towards the center of Haven. 

“To the Chantry!” several soldiers shouted, ushering people forward and away from the battle. The enemy was close behind. Rowan shot down two more, her aim improving with necessity, before one of the soldiers pushed her towards the Chantry. 

She acquiesced and went inside. The whole town was in there. People were panicked and crying, children weeping. Rowan slid to the floor. She was drained and in shock. Did they really plan to fight a dragon? Could they? She checked her quiver. Ten arrows left. 

The Chantry doors groaned shut. Rowan looked up to see Maxwell and his company, as well as Roderick. She'd never felt welcome with him around. Dorian had assured her that no one really listened to the man complain. She knew he didn't like her but she felt a pang upon seeing his beaten and bloody face. He was obviously in great pain.

Words were exchanged. Rowan tried to keep up, but she couldn't. There was really no need to understand. They were going back out. Maxwell and some others out the front, everyone else was to leave out the back. So they were a distraction then? Keep the dragon at bay for people to escape. 

Rowan didn't know why she started towards the door with Maxwell. She could have run, saved herself, lived with the others. But she couldn't. She wouldn't be able to live with it. And she didn't even know why.

No one tried to stop her. It was her decision. Maxwell looked at her once, almost surprised, and Dorian gave her a nearly reproachful look, as if he didn't approve.

It was too late for all that. Rowan readied another arrow. She wasn't shaking as much as before and so her aim was better. Their enemy was waiting just outside the door and Rowan took up the fight with the soldiers. If she was paying attention to them, she would have seen Maxwell run off with the others, but her mind was focused on the battle in front of her. 

She counted down her arrows. Five now. The red knights were getting close, too close for her to aim properly, a problem she hadn't anticipated. Still, she nocked an arrow.

Another great shriek sounded and, like a bad fighter, Rowan lost her focus. She looked up for the dragon, saw the flames at a distance, and looked back. But it was enough. Her focus should have stayed on the battlefield. It only took those few short seconds. When her eyes came back, they met with one of the red knights, closer than ever. His eyes were completely red, his skin translucent, his expression calloused. 

It happened all at once, and yet so slowly in her mind. His sword bit into her skin, all the way through her stomach. She could feel it, feel it cold inside her and it touched her back and kept going. She thought it would hurt. A papercut hurt. It stung brightly. This didn't sting. It hurt in different ways, in ways her mind couldn't yet latch onto. She was about to go into shock.

Rowan lost all feeling in her legs in that instant. In the back of her mind she knew he'd severed her spinal cord. His grip tightened again on the sword and Rowan panicked. He couldn't pull it out. If he pulled it, she would bleed to death. 

And it all happened so fast. Him driving his sword through her, her realization and the knowledge of what was next that came into her mind. Rowan didn't even know she still had the arrow in her hand. But she needed to stop him from taking the sword in some desperate attempt to save her life. So she shoved the tip through his eye. He cried out, his blood on her hand and splattering against her cheek as he fell. Rowan dropped as well, unable to support herself. 

Her mind was already in a haze. She still had her bow and a few arrows. She should use them but she couldn't. There was nothing left in her. 

Somebody shouted, dragged her up and pulled her backwards. Why would they try to save her? It was useless now, wasn't it? She could hear the hustle of many footsteps, feel the now familiar stone of the Chantry, and then . . . 

nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

She was dying. Solas could feel it on her cold skin. She was going to die, and they hadn't even had time to take the sword out yet. 

He saw the look on her face in the Chantry: the pale fear of a child who has never seen battle, and the resolve of a woman who knows what must be done. It was unfortunate it ended this way for her. 

“She fought bravely,” Cassandra said as they walked the path towards the others. There was no hurry now. Maxwell ensured their safety with his demise. “I didn't give her enough credit.”

“None of us did, Seeker,” Varric said, folding his arms. “One look at her and you know she's too . . . soft.”

“A scholar and not a fighter, yes?” Dorian added. His grip shifted on Rowan's other arm. “I saved her work from the Chantry but I suppose she won't be needing it.”

Solas knew the Tevinter man took it as his fault. Rowan shouldn't have been here at all except for his magic. Truthfully, it was Alexius that forced his hand. Still, it was not Alexius that brought her through the time portal. No one really knew how she came through it, but Dorian always took the blame. 

“Right good shot, though,” Sera said. “See how she shoved that arrow right up that templar's eye? Not a bad way to go, yeah? All heroic and shit.”

“The Chargers will be hearing the story when we can have a few good drinks. I know they'll be happy to hear Softie wasn't so delicate after all,” Bull said.

The rest of the way was filled with the silence after a battle. Whether they won or lost, lives were always forfeited. They all felt it on their shoulders.

There was a healer ready for them. The man looked haggard already. Solas was sure Rowan was not the only one in a poor state. He and Dorian set her down on a bedroll and the healer removed the blade as gently as possible. The woman still coughed and her eyes focused from their hazy slumber. Blood instantly trickled from her stomach, staining those odd clothes she wore.

Solas watched the healer set a rag beneath her to catch the blood, and another atop her stomach to stop the flow. He looked up at the elf, then Dorian. 

“A wound like this . . . there's not much I can do.”

“Then see to those you can help,” Dorian said. The man nodded and left. Solas sat beside Rowan's head. Her eyes were half open but she said nothing. 

Dorian paced the ground nearby. “Fucking time magic.”

“It is a dangerous thing, and it did bring her here,” Solas agreed. “But time magic did not put Rowan on the battlefield. She made that choice.”

“I should have stopped her. I should have – she shouldn't have gone out there. She's not a soldier, dammit.”

There was no use arguing reason with the man. He simply needed to speak. Solas remained silent. They waited.

***

Rowan could hear them talking. She heard the voices she now knew, even if she couldn't understand. Then someone took the sword. But it was too late, wasn't it? She heard it in the unfamiliar voice. She'd gotten good at that. 

She looked up at the stars. Constellations were never her forte, but she knew the big dipper when she saw it. This wasn't her sky. There were no constellations she would know. 

Solas was there. And Dorian. It was hard to watch someone die, wasn't it? Even if you didn't know them that well. She thanked them. They probably didn't know why, but she did it anyway. 

“Solas?” Her stomach felt too warm. It took her a bit to realize it was from her own blood. “Speak, please?”

A hand settled on her forehead. And he did. They were words of comfort, of peacefulness. She breathed them in. The hand lifted away.

“Thank you.” It was silent again. Her brain was fuzzy, like the time she got her wisdom teeth removed, and Rowan found herself talking. “ _I wish I could've seen the next Avengers movie. The trailer looked good. But it always takes forever for movies to release in Japan. I'll miss Japan too. The cherry blossoms really are something. I thought it was stupid, just some anime lover thing that they blew out of proportion, but they're beautiful in the spring. It's like being in the rain, only it's flowers instead of water.”_

 _“I wish I could've told my mother. She didn't want me to leave and now I've gone missing in this country on the other side of the world. I see now four years was too long. I should've gone back. I only signed on for another year but . . . I never met my nephew. My brother had a baby and I never went to see him. I didn't think – I was so selfish not to go_.”

Rowan reached for her purse, fingers grasping at nothing. She didn't have the energy to look so her hand fell limp again. Another hand took hold of her own and pushed her purse against it. She looked at Dorian and he didn't say anything because he knew she was going to die. 

Rowan took her phone in shaking hands. Screw not showing them advanced technology. The battery was almost dead anyway. She pulled up the video her brother sent her a year ago. But she couldn't see anymore. Her eyes weren't working. She could only hear.

“ _Daniel, come on, come over here. I know you can do it_ ,” her brother said, coaxing his son to walk. 

“ _Go to daddy. Let's go to daddy._ ” 

A baby's laughter. They cheered. The phone went black as the battery finally died. It fell against Rowan's chest, just like it used to when she stayed up in bed on facebook too late. 

It was over.

***

She still breathed, though barely. 

“A box that plays memories? How ingenious,” Dorian said quietly. 

Solas smiled. “I imagine there were many things she wished to tell us. I would have liked to hear the stories she could tell of where she came from.”

“You have any idea what she said? I only know bits and pieces of her language.”

“Could you not hear it in her tone?” Solas said. “She spoke of home, of the things that have been lost.”

He understood only because he'd known the same. Dorian stood quickly.

“Well, nothing for it now. I'd better find a way to make myself useful. With the Herald gone, things are bound to get testy.”

Solas said nothing of the tears on the Tevinter's eyes. He stayed, only because he didn't want to see her die alone.

***

There was an itch under Rowan's skin. Light, at first. Barely there. But it gnawed like a slow hunger and brought enough life back to her arm to reach for it. Warm and wet and just a bit too soft to be skin, but it felt nice to scratch it until a hand pulled her wrist away. She stretched out her other hand but it was stopped as well. 

A voice called out. 

The itch was growing, becoming painful. She squirmed and fought against the hands keeping her. She needed to scratch it. It hurt now. It hurt enough for her to groan, for tears to touch her cheeks. Her body scooted against the ground, as if she could somehow distance herself from the pain inside her stomach. She was stopped from that as well. 

Didn't they see? Couldn't they understand something was burning now? Under her skin and behind her eyes. Her hands kept struggling to appease the burn but she was too weak. 

Voices. She could hear voices. Hurried, panicked, confused. Yes, please, help. Stop the burning. 

She was crying now. No one was stopping her stomach from burning all the way to the floor. No one was helping. Why weren't they helping?

Then it happened. There was a deafening crack and Rowan's head hit the ground as she screamed harder than she knew she could. Her back arched to the stars and her eyes fell open but she couldn't see. There was only white. 

Her toes tingled. She kicked her feet for only a moment before they were captured too. They weren't helping! It still burned. Rowan braced her shoulders against the floor and resisted. A feral cry bordering on a roar left her throat. She didn't even know that was possible. 

Slowly, so slowly, the fire left her stomach and Rowan was left with her chest heaving, staring at those unfamiliar stars. She couldn't remember when she was able to see again. 

She blinked slowly at familiar faces and was gone.

***

She awoke to sunlight on her face. Rowan groaned, tongue parched, and thought to block the light from her face. Her fingers twitched but would not respond. Every inch of her was sore beyond belief, beyond even her worst workout. She needed water but she couldn't move to get it.

Then he appeared. He wasn't there and then he was. He lifted her head and shoulders and tipped a cup to her lips. Rowan coughed at first. He was patient and let her drink as slow as she needed.

“Thank you,” she rasped. Her head was pounding again so she closed her eyes. When she looked he was gone and Maxwell was in his place. 

“Are you alright?” he asked with a wry smile.

“No.” She didn't know how else to say it. He laughed anyway at her bluntness. 

“We must travel. Ready?” 

“No.” She tried to move her limbs to show that she couldn't, but that wasn't even possible yet. Maxwell gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze and left. She wanted to ask him what happened. Why was she still alive? Why was her stomach healed? But she couldn't and she didn't have the energy to either.

A woman came to her soon after to spoon feed her bland porridge. Rowan ate it all, even if the woman kept staring at her like she had two extra heads.

After that, Rowan slept. When she awoke, she was on a cart filled with supplies pulled by a druffalo. It was only for a moment, and she had a faint fear of falling off, but she was not awake long enough to really wonder.

She didn't really remember the journey to Skyhold. She slept a great deal and would wake long enough to eat or drink, then fall back to dreamless slumber. Each time she awoke she regained enough feeling to where, by the time they entered the fortress, she could sit up on her own. Standing was still almost impossible, but Rowan had faith that it was just a matter of time. At least she had a chance to bathe and get all that extra blood off. That counted for quite a bit in her mind.

***

“You cannot afford to let this go unnoticed, Inquisitor,” Cullen said. 

Maxwell stood over the table in their new meeting room, gazing at the map of Thedas sprawled over it. “I'm listening.”

“You may not have been there, but we all saw what happened to that woman. She was dead. She was dead and then she wasn't. I know of necromancy, but I've never seen a mage bring herself back to life. I would not trust that kind of magic.”

“She isn't even a mage,” Leliana pointed out. 

“The point remains,” Cullen ground back.

“I do not think she would do such a thing on purpose.” Josephine let her eyes fall. “It looked so . . . painful. I can't imagine anyone going into a battle willingly knowing that might be on the other side.”

“She may be unaware of her abilities,” Leliana said. “The fact that she's still recovering shows her body was not ready for the kind of stress placed upon it.”

“Which makes it even more dangerous,” Cullen added. “And what of your experience with the rift on the way back from Redcliff? We still have no answers to her reaction there either. I understand you feel responsible for her being here, but if we continue to allow these oddities to go unchecked we may have a serious threat on our hands.”

Maxwell folded his arms. “Leliana, have one of your agents look into the matter. There must be some information out there we can draw on. In the meantime, we will treat her as we have. It'll be no use questioning her when she can't even answer.”

But Cullen was right and Maxwell knew it. He'd heard the account from several people when he found the camp outside of Haven that night: how Rowan's eyes glowed white, how her body thrashed as if possessed, and how her deep wound healed itself before their eyes. Even Solas, his resident advisor on all things strange and unusual, had no answers. 

So Maxwell found himself on the second floor of the rotunda across from the war room. 

“Inquisitor, is it now?” Dorian said, setting down his book and standing to greet him. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“What can you tell me about Rowan? She seems to be closer to you than anyone,” Maxwell said.

“Ah.” Dorian turned from him to sit down again, this time on the arm of the chair. “If you're looking for answers about the night Haven fell, I have none. For someone who'd never seen magic until we met her, she has something powerful on her side to keep her from imminent death.”

“Cullen thinks she did die and somehow brought herself back to life.”

“He would, wouldn't he? At this point, it's a matter of semantics. There is still something, some kind of magic, that is more powerful than any of us have even heard of. I can tell you she knew nothing of it, if that helps.”

“How do you know she had no knowledge of her power?” Maxwell asked. 

“I saw her, Inquisitor, when the blade struck. I have seen that look on men before. She had the eyes of a person who knew they were about to die. She was prepared to die,” Dorian said. 

Maxwell looked to the window, not sure where to go next. 

“If I may interrupt,” Solas said as he mounted the stairs. “I couldn't help overhearing from downstairs, and I've a theory about what happened.”

“Go on,” Maxwell said. 

“I don't believe Rowan can die while she is within this realm. There is something within her that is repelled by our world. Indeed, her existence here may be the thing that pushes against the fabric of the Veil. Death is natural. She is not natural to this place, and therefore death refuses her,” Solas explained.

“That's a good theory, but there must be a 'how' to the 'why',” Dorian said, folding his arms. 

“I believe that will be explained once we understand how she came to be here. We know she fell out of the time portal with the two of you at Redcliff, but she did not travel through time. She must have traveled past it, in a way. We must understand it from her side if we are to know what truly happened,” Solas said. 

“More waiting, then,” Maxwell said. “We can't ask until she knows how to answer.”

“It will not be much longer, if her studies continue at the rate they have been,” Solas smiled. “She has so far learned remarkably quickly.”

“I think I can help.”

Maxwell's hand was on his sword before he realized the voice was from Cole sitting on the banister behind him. “Please do not sneak up like that.”

“I didn't sneak. You just didn't see,” Cole said. 

“You said you could help, Cole?” Solas asked. As expected, he was more accepting of the spirit boy than anyone, including Maxwell. 

“Yes. You can communicate words, but I can say more. More than words. If she will listen. She might not. She might not hear me, like I can't hear her,” Cole said. 

“You can't hear her?” Solas asked, curiosity on the edge of his voice. 

“I can. I have to try. She's very quiet, very far away. It pushes her. It hates her. It hates being near her. And she doesn't like it either. She doesn't like being away,” Cole said. 

Maxwell couldn't understand him and turned to ask Solas for a translation, when Cole continued.

“It's lurking loud, looking for the pieces that puzzle a person but nothing fits. It pushes but there aren't enough parts to place. So much missing. Where did it go?”

“Solas?” Dorian was the one to ask. 

“He means the Fade. You remember on our return from Redcliff she collapsed beside the rift? The rift opens into the Fade. Cole is saying the two repel each other, much like my theory. The rest, I do not know.”

“Must have done something terrible to make the Fade 'hate her'.” Dorian quipped. 

“The Fade has no real feelings towards her, either good or ill. Its nature simply refuses hers,” Solas said. 

“Alright, well, if you've speculated enough?” Maxwell offered, feeling a headache coming on.

“Of course. After you, Inquisitor.” 

Maxwell led the way out.


	5. Chapter 5

Rowan was on a stone bench in the dilapidated garden when they came looking for her. She was thinking about why she was still alive. It seemed she wasn't the only one with that question. 

“Hi, I'm Cole.”

Rowan recognized him. He'd given her water once. She looked to Dorian for an answer. 

“Cole is helping. Yes?” he said. 

She nodded and watched the boy sit down beside her. His fingers reached out and touched her temple. 

“ _How did you get here_?” his voice echoed in her head. But it wasn't a voice. It was a picture of words to come. Images of arriving in this place. A feeling of uncertainty.

How? Rowan couldn't remember. She'd tried so many times. She was in Japan, enjoying the weekend, visiting a shrine? an antique store? There was a broken mirror. Then she was here. 

She said nothing. It came to her in images. But Cole seemed to understand and conveyed it to the three men. Maxwell spoke and Cole returned to her.

“ _What happened when you died?_ ” She saw herself on that night: eyes on fire, held down by the people closest to her, blood on her hands and abdomen. Is that what she had looked like? Is that what they saw?

Rowan shook her head. She didn't have an answer.

Solas had a question as well. Cole asked. “ _What's it like where you're from? Is there no magic?_ ”

How could she answer that? Magic, no, but she thought of the lights of Akihabara at night, of her brother recording his son's first steps, of video games and light switches. And what is it like? She thought of the rush of people in Shibuya, of the lunch bell in high school, of teaching, of her parents, of flying across the world, of taking pictures with friends over dinner, of-

Cole ripped away, looking pained. He shook his head, answered Solas with something that included “can't”, and vanished. 

Rowan frowned. “Sorry.”

“It's alright,” Maxwell said. Dorian spoke and gave a shrug. 

She realized something. They were coming to her for answers. That only meant they didn't have any. All this time she was trying to speak with them to find out the truth and they were just as lost as she was. 

There were no answers. There was no getting home. 

She fell apart. Rowan didn't cry. She couldn't. This was a despair beyond tears. But she felt all of the will pull from her lungs. The men left her there, staring into nothing. She returned to the room they'd given her at Skyhold and refused to leave. She might have liked to die in there. That wasn't possible though, was it? Even death, the great escape, wouldn't help her. 

Three days later, when she was in good health again, Dorian came to say goodbye. They were leaving. He couldn't say where and she didn't have the care to find out. Rowan should have given him a proper goodbye. Instead she nodded at him from the window only once, then turned away. 

Time became irrelevant. She slept much and would wake at odd hours to appease her dry throat or eat something if she could. But she had given up trying. Her books and notes were left forgotten. She didn't visit the tavern or the archery range. She had become . . . nothing. 

Until one day, after something like two weeks had passed, Rowan was awoken from her midafternoon slumber by someone sitting on her. 

She groaned and blinked up at a large hat. 

“ _What?_ ” she mumbled. 

Fingers touched her forehead. An image of her getting up, being taken by the hand, following. _Come with me._

Rowan didn't want to but Cole pulled at her hand, gentle yet firm. Insistent. She eventually obeyed and he gave her only enough time to slip on her battered shoes and grab her robe before pulling her outside. Rowan blinked at the light. She hadn't seen sun in a few days. 

She was already curious, but when they left Skyhold she really wanted to question. Her eyes caught on the bag in his other hand and she wondered what was inside. 

They walked for some time. Cole let go of her hand to scrabble over rocks and down a steep hill. Then there was a long way with no path, only trees and dense brush. They kept walking. 

It became rocky again after awhile. Cole led her up a slope where large boulders stood against time. Rowan followed, trying to find a hold on the smooth stone to pull herself up. She was sweating, lungs working for each breath, and wondering where the hell they were going. 

He reached the top and stopped. Rowan caught her breath, looked up, and there it was. 

A deep pool nestled beneath three great boulders, steaming lightly even from where they stood. A hot spring. Rowan turned to Cole, eyes wide. He handed her the bag he was carrying and vanished, reappearing on top of one of the boulders, facing away. 

Rowan thought of the onsen in Japan and understood. Cole was trying to give her something of home. She pulled open the satchel and looked inside. Clothes. She'd been here almost two months now and had only the outfit she arrived in and the robe Maxwell gave her. She never thought she'd be so happy to receive one pair of clothes. 

There were boots as well. Sturdy by the look of them. Much better for her feet than her fashion boots. She'd dealt with blisters on more than one occasion. Also in the bag was a small bottle that turned out to be lotion, a comb, and a thin rectangular blade. A razor. 

She couldn't help it. She laughed. How did Cole know she missed shaving? Well, she didn't want to think too much about it. She thanked him, to which he nodded. Then she stripped down and entered the hot water. 

It was the best feeling in the world. Baths were utilitarian here and required a lot of work to provide. She understood that and tried not to complain. But it was so nice to have water that was more than lukewarm at best. No one was waiting to go next and no angry woman was glaring at her for taking a second bath in as many weeks. This was hers. Her skin bloomed red at the heat and she welcomed it. 

Rowan immediately set to work on her hair. It took some time, and her arms and scalp were sore by the end of it, but she finally got all the knots out and rinsed the water through her hair. Nothing to wash it with, but at this point she wasn't complaining. After that she found a porous rock on the ledge of the pool that reminded her of a foot scrub. It did about the same job and she was able to scrub her skin until it was soft and raw. 

She was careful with the razor, both on her legs and underarms. It wasn't like the ones she was used to and Rowan knew she could probably hurt herself with it. When she thought about it, it was silly to want to shave. No one here noticed or cared. But she felt better by it, more like a woman, and she was thankful Cole indulged it. 

After that, she soaked in the hot water. It gave her time to think, to consider all the things she'd been avoiding over the past few weeks. 

So she couldn't go home. Rowan could say she felt it from the beginning. If they could have sent her back they would have. It was a fool's hope that drove her and now that she didn't have that crutch she needed to find something else. 

That she couldn't die was both a strange blessing and a curse. If these people were at war, they could probably use it. She would have to get better at fighting. Her 'immortality' might save her, but she would rather not go through the experience of it more than necessary. 

She'd been selfish. Cole, Dorian, Maxwell, even Solas. They'd all given and she only took. She took because she was scared and desperate and wanted to pretend this wasn't real, that somehow it could be fixed. This was her reality now. She needed to act like it. So far she'd been running around in this world like a little girl looking for directions. What she needed to be was the woman who taught and directed by her action. Like she used to. Rowan needed to return to what she was before this place shook her foundations. She needed to be herself again. 

She stepped from the water, skin pruned, and dressed in her new clothes. The clothes of these people. They were warm and utilitarian, in earthy tones. The boots were comfortable too. She stuffed her old clothes in the bag with her new things (she would use the lotion later) and stood. 

“Cole!” 

He looked, then appeared at her side. “Did I help?”

Rowan laughed and hugged him. He didn't seem used to the gesture, but he accepted it. “Yes. Yes you did.”

They started back towards Skyhold. It was twilight now. The way would be dark. Rowan wasn't afraid though. 

She had more time to think and came to a realization. She needed to treat this place like she treated going to Japan. Instead of questioning and bemoaning the differences from what she was used to, she needed accept them and adapt. She was the foreigner here. And she knew how to play that role. 

Dorian was waiting for them just inside the gate. Well, waiting for her. Cole was gone again when she looked. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. 

Rowan hugged him. “I'm sorry.” Sorry for her selfishness, sorry for taking advantage of his help. 

Dorian returned the hug briefly, then gently pushed her shoulders away. He mumbled something to himself. Then, with a rather serious face, he motioned between them, shook his head no, and waved his hands. 

Rowan wondered if she'd broken some kind of taboo by hugging. She winced and apologized. Dorian huffed. He pointed to himself, held up an index finger and poked it through a circle he made with his other hand, shook his head again, and pushed his index fingers together a few times. 

She laughed. He had such a serious face and made such a lewd gesture she couldn't help it. All to say _I'm not into women._ She'd suspected but could never say so. It was a relief to her, given he was her first friend here and she felt equally unromantic towards him. She hugged him again, and this time he accepted with fervor. 

They went back inside. Rowan returned to her room, placed her new bag in the corner, and prepared to begin again in the morning. 

In the coming days she made more progress than ever. In her learning she reached the point of understanding, not of fluency, but of hearing and knowing without having to translate in her mind. She figured out that she'd been calling Iron Bull by the wrong name. When she told him one night at the tavern, he laughed and said it was at least a good alternative. 

She approached Cullen in that time as well. She needed to be trained, seriously this time. He obliged and she became stronger and more able by it. Strangely, it helped with her headache. It never truly went away, but when she worked her body and came to a level of exhaustion, she was able to forget it. 

So it was that three weeks after their return to Skyhold, only six after arriving there from Haven, Rowan approached Maxwell in the main area by the throne. 

“I'm ready to help in whatever way I can,” she said. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. They hadn't seen much of each other. He was often in the war room or overseeing some important matter or other. So Rowan wasn't surprised by his trepidation. 

“Yes. I don't want to sit idly by anymore,” she said.

“Alright. I'll think about it and get back to you,” Maxwell said. For a brief second Rowan felt like she was at the end of a job interview. She thanked him and left him to his work. 

She planned to visit Dorian but he was not in his room or the tavern. Sometimes she found him on the second floor of the rotunda, so that was her next destination. 

Well, it was until she was distracted by what she saw from the doorway on the first floor. 

Solas sat atop a scaffold, brush in hand, adding color to a mural that took up the length of the wall. Rowan stepped inside to look. She hadn't been in this room since they came to Skyhold. She'd passed by it a few time, but she didn't realize there was something of worth inside. 

There were three murals, perfectly placed with a symbolism Rowan couldn't grasp. Solas was adding a fourth. 

“I didn't know you could . . .” She didn't know the word for it. 

Solas looked down and smiled on seeing her. “Paint? Yes. It's one of my lesser known talents.”

Rowan would have been embarrassed to admit she forgot about Dorian in that moment. She'd never seen anyone paint before, and especially not something that big. So she watched. She watched until she had to sit down, until he moved closer to ground level. 

“Do you not have painters where you come from?” he finally asked. 

Rowan blushed. Was it really so bad to want to watch? “I'm sorry if I bothered you. I can go.”

“It's no bother. I was asking a question of curiosity,” he said before she could fully stand from her seat on the couch. 

Rowan sat back down. She mulled over her answer. “We do but . . . usually we do not see the work, only the end. I have seen a lot of art but I haven't seen someone making it.”

“I see. Is there some kind of rule against it?” His eyes never wavered from their task. 

“Oh no, it's not like that. The world is very big, but things can travel very quickly and we can see something soon after it's made. So people very far away make art that I can look at. And there are a lot of old things too, old art that we can see. I think, if I wanted to I could watch someone work but I never thought about painting. . . . I can do something like painting, but it's not the same. I'll have to show you sometime,” Rowan said. There would be no easy way to explain calligraphy to him. 

Solas nodded. 

She hadn't seen him recently. Solas tended to disappear for days at a time (either that or they were busy in different places). The thought made her remember a question she'd forgotten.

“Can I ask you something?” she ventured.

“Yes?”

“At Haven, I didn't see you for a time. I asked Dorian and he said you were probably sleeping. But he said it like it was a joke. Do you know what he meant?”

“Did he jest at my expense?” Solas gave a wry smile. 

“Maybe. It was useless to me though,” Rowan said. 

“Yes, I suppose so,” he said with a small laugh. “He means I spent my time walking the Fade. It is the place some go when they dream. Do you know of such a thing?”

Rowan frowned. “I don't understand. Is it a real place? Can not everyone go? And why only when you sleep?”

“It walks beside the waking in dreams of memory and emotion. That is the best I can describe it. There are some who cannot connect to it and others that refuse to find it. It is possible to walk the Fade physically but such a thing has not been done since ages past,” he said. 

“And you like it in the Fade? Why? What's it like?” 

Solas chuckled at her quickfire questions. “The Fade is the place where spirits of wisdom and knowledge reside, where memories are made real again, and where beauty is something felt as well as seen. How could I not wish to travel within it?”

“I see. There's something like that in my home. You can see a thing that has happened in the past as many times as you like. But it is machine and not magic. There are many things it can't do,” Rowan said. 

“Like your memory box?” 

“My what?” She wasn't sure if she misinterpreted his words.

“The black box you carried. It played a memory for you on the night Haven fell,” he explained. 

Rowan 'oh'd. He was talking about her phone. Well that wasn't the worst thing they could think it was. It was best to let him have his idea of what it could do. “Yes, it was a memory my brother gave me of his son. . . . I never got to meet him.”

“Your nephew?” Solas confirmed.

“Yes. I lived very far away. It's very easy to travel and I could have returned in a day. But I chose not to. I made a mistake,” she said. 

Solas said nothing. She watched him fill in the blank places on the wall. 

“I am sorry,” he finally said. 

Rowan smiled. “Thank you.”

He went back to his work and they said no more.


	6. Chapter 6

It was another early morning in Skyhold. The last, Maxwell thought with relief, before he left tomorrow for the Western Approach. In the meantime, there was much to do in preparation. 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen greeted him, looking just as tired. There was a hefty stack of papers in front of him on the war table. Missives and reports for them to review before they could even begin their day. 

“Let's get started, shall we?” Maxwell said. 

“We received word from Orzammar late last night,” Josephine said. “The negotiations went well. They are sending us several high ranking members of the Legion of the Dead. The king formally recognizes Corypheus' threat and our efforts to stop him.”

“Good. I'm almost surprised we didn't have to work harder for it. Not that I'm complaining,” Maxwell said. 

“The alliance will be beneficial to them as well. If we do stop Corypheus, Orzammar can claim to be one of our first allies,” Cullen added.

“Yes, that's true. Leliana, what news from Caer Bronach?” 

“Excavation is underway. The underground passage we found should be clear within a week for our agents to move freely,” she said. 

And so it went. For the greater part of the morning they whittled away at the stack of documents. Breakfast was brought to them and they ate between disagreements over negotiations and planning strategies to increase the Inquisition's reach. 

“I have report from the agent I sent to look into Rowan's ability,” Leliana said, veering from an argument with Cullen over who should preside over Lydes.

“Oh?”

“He found very little, and the lead may not be a lead at all. He reported searching a vast array of protective spells and enchantments and found evidence of an ancient elven amulet that seemed the closest to what we described. He said it did not claim to revive the dead, but the tale of the white glow was the same,” she explained. 

“That isn't much help,” Maxwell agreed. 

“I don't see the use in this artifact,” Cullen added. “Unless you mean to say she is somehow connected to the ancient elves – unlikely considering her first reactions – I doubt it can have any bearing on this investigation.”

“That is the only lead. As I said, he found very little,” Leliana said. 

“Is there a way to obtain one of these amulets? Perhaps see if she recognizes it or knows how to use it?” Maxwell suggested. 

“There are none that remain. Like many other artifacts of that time, they were destroyed long ago. The name, however, is curious. It was called 'Shir'vel Enansal': the Traveler's Blessing.”

“So perhaps it was given to those going on a long journey?” Josephine said. “Although, I can't see how that pertains to our guest.”

“I can't either, but that was all that we found,” Leliana said.

Maxwell frowned. “Thanks for the effort. We'll just have to keep an eye on her then. It does remind me. Rowan approached me offering her service to the Inquisition. She does not have any . . . normal qualifications and I'm at a loss where to direct her, if at all. Thoughts?”

“I would not send her to the field,” Cullen said first. “She is committed, but her skill with the bow is only passable at best. And I do not think it wise to put her magic to battle without knowing how and why it works.”

“A fair assessment. Leliana?”

“I could use her as an agent,” the spymaster said almost reluctantly. “Her soft appearance would fool many, though I couldn't promise her safety if her skill is lacking, as our commander says. That is, if her magical ability is not as consistent as we think. She is obviously born of affluence. Perhaps she would be more suited to the court than anything.”

Maxwell looked to Josephine to consider the option. The woman frowned. “She is a quick study, and proficient with the pen, but she knows almost nothing of Orlesian politics. I suppose, if she's willing, I can provide materials for her to become familiar with the court. After that, I'm sure I could use her as an assistant.”

The Inquisitor nodded. “Then do so. I will see she receives it. If that is all, I'm ready for lunch.”

The four departed.

***

“Then his wife drops something on the floor and he goes to pick it up and says 'Wait a minute, that's my wedding band. Why does she have it?' Then it all hits him: he's dead. He's been dead the whole time, ever since that guy broke into his house. He just didn't want to believe it,” Rowan said. 

Varric wagged a finger at her. “Oh that's good. Explains why she wouldn't talk to him before. I like it. Mind if I borrow it sometime?” 

“Of course,” Rowan laughed. “It wasn't my idea. It was just a story I heard.”

They had finished eating lunch sometime earlier. It seemed today was a day of relaxing, and she was able to spend the entire morning exchanging stories with Varric. It made Rowan wish she'd read more Sherlock Holmes stories. 

She stopped with her tankard halfway to her lips when she saw Solas pass by on his way out of the rotunda. “Oh, Solas. Are you busy?”

The elf stopped. “What can I do for you?”

Rowan frowned at his evasion. “I was wondering, if you have time, if you could tell me more about the Fade.”

“Oh no, you said the 'F' word,” Varric complained dramatically. 

Solas' eyebrow lifted at the same moment his lip twitched. At least he wasn't offended. Though Rowan had a suspicion he was used to such comments. 

“What's so bad about it?” she asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. If you're really interested Chuckles is the one to talk to,” Varric conceded. “And I do mean _really_ interested.”

“Curiosity is nothing to disdain, child of the stone,” Solas said. 

“Not saying it is. Softie might just be getting more than she bargained for,” Varric responded. 

Rowan smiled wryly at her nickname. “I think I can handle it. I was a teacher myself, you know. I know how these things work.”

“Alright. Well have fun. I've got writing to do anyway. Don't want to lose any of those good ideas you gave me.” Varric left and Rowan was left looking up at Solas from her bench seat.

“I was about to get some air. Perhaps you would join me for a stroll on the battlements?” he offered. 

She followed him in silence out onto the stone walkways. The wind wasn't too terrible today, but it was still strong enough to howl in her ears from where they walked and Rowan wondered how they were supposed to have a conversation out there. Solas knew, it seemed, as they stopped beside one of the storehouses. It sheltered them from the wind though the sun touched them unhindered. 

“Is that normal?” she finally asked after admiring the view of the mountains for awhile. “Varric's dismissal? It seemed like you've gotten that reaction before.”

“Sadly, yes. For Varric, I understand. He is a dwarf, and dwarves do not dream. But there are many others that fear and misunderstand the Fade, even as they walk within it. There are . . . traditions in place now that misconstrue the true nature of the Fade, and in so doing, distort the perceptions of those that visit it. Our world is static and does not bend to the whims of a person's emotions. But the Fade, the Fade moves and breathes of every feeling, for good or ill, and it takes fortitude to bend it the way you wish rather than simply watch the ripples expand.”

“So,” Rowan started, eyes focusing on him as she tried to understand. “So it's based on what you think? Does that make it some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy? You go in angry or afraid and it reflects that back at you. Or are there limitations?”

“Yes and no. Your will must be strong enough to influence it first. Otherwise nearby spirits will alter your perception, be they malevolent or not,” he explained. 

“Oh yeah, you mentioned spirits. Do they only live in the Fade? What are they like? Are they like people? Or is it different?” Rowan said. She leaned more heavily on the stone battlement as her feet became tired. 

Solas smiled. “You are refreshing, Rowan. There are few who would approach anything with such an open heart.”

“Thank you. I'm sorry to hear that, but if it helps there are many people like that where I come from. It is easier not to know if there is a cost in learning, right? You can claim ignorance and be free of responsibility, if nothing else.”

“I suppose that's true.” And he looked across the expanse outside the walls. It seemed his eyes were searching for something beyond reach.

“But you were going to tell me about spirits,” Rowan prompted to bring him back. 

“Yes, of course. What would you like to know?”

And he answered everything. She questioned as the sun waned across the open sky, as her throat dried from speaking. Rowan was sure Solas was similarly parched, but he said nothing of it and he didn't ask her to stop. 

“I'm sorry,” he finally said. “But I must make preparations for tomorrow before the sun sets. The rest will have to wait for another time.”

“What happens tomorrow?” Rowan asked, tempted to pout. 

“We leave for the Western Approach far to the west. It's a long journey, but a necessary one,” Solas explained. 

“I see.” Rowan felt loneliness encroaching at the thought of all her friends leaving and covered it with a joke. “Well, if you were tired you could have just said so. I forget you're probably older than you look.”

He chuckled at that. “I assure you, it would take much more to tire me. And I would wager I have more stamina than you do.”

The way he said it, the way his lip twitched in a secret smile, made Rowan's heart drop and she fought back a heat creeping up her chest. But if the Japanese taught her anything, it was to school her expressions and she kept up the pretense. “Placing bets already? Is that a risk or a bluff?”

“Must it be either? If you know your opponent's weaknesses, it's hardly a risk at all,” Solas said. He stepped away, back towards the main hall. 

Not content to let him have the last word, Rowan followed. “Well, you know what they say, 'Pride comes before the fall'.”

He gave her a bemused glance. “I haven't heard that phrase before.”

“Oh, it's common at home. Not sure where it comes from, now that I think about it,” Rowan said.

“The truth of the statement is enough to give it credence, I imagine. Though in this case it is not pride so much as knowledge,” he said.

“Do you always have to have the last word?” Rowan said.

Solas laughed but said nothing, as if to further aggravate her. At the same time, Maxwell approached her and Solas left without another word. It was nice to be inside again and Rowan met the Inquisitor by the fireplace near the entrance. 

He handed her a slip of parchment. “You asked me for work, so here it is. This is a list of books and references on the courts of Thedas. Once you read through everything and feel you understand it, you will be helping our ambassador with whatever she needs.”

Rowan nodded and took it. “I'm still a slow reader. It might take a little while.”

“That's alright. You have the time. We won't need you until we return, and we may be gone as long as two months. It gives you plenty of time to get everything in order,” Maxwell said.

“Thank you.” Rowan almost wanted to start immediately to prove her readiness but realized this would be the last time she saw her friends for some time. With that in mind, she excused herself and went down to the tavern to find Dorian. 

“Ah, there you are,” he said upon seeing her. Rowan sat down next to him after getting a drink, eyes drawn to the cards in his hand and on the table. 

“What's this?” she asked. 

“Wicked grace,” Varric answered. “I forgot you still needed to learn it. How was the lesson with Chuckles?”

Rowan smiled. “Good. I learned a lot.”

“Lesson?” Bull said as he threw another silver on the pile. To Rowan, the game was looking remarkably similar to poker. “In what?”

“She said the 'F' word,” Varric explained. 

“Dear me, I'm terribly sorry,” Dorian said. “I raise.”

Sera cursed and stared at her cards as it came to her turn. “You listen to His Elfiness? Too much strange shite there. Bad enough we got mages, then he's all serious. Just what it is though, innit? No use gettin' grim. The thing just is. Call.”

“I enjoyed it. Doesn't bother me as much as it seems to for you guys,” Rowan said. If her guess was right, going by the cards Dorian was bluffing. 

“It's not a bother. We just don't share his interest,” Bull explained. He threw his cards down, folding, took a long drink, then wiped his lips with his arm. “Solas knows it though. He doesn't push it. We've had it out a few times over other things, discussions, disagreements, but it didn't change the way he had my back in a fight. I can respect someone like that.”

“You give your respect to our apostate hobo, but not to me? Bull, I'm hurt,” Dorian joked. 

Rowan looked to Varric with brow raised. He shook his head and waved a hand, as if it was too much to explain. 

“I don't make it a habit of respecting 'Vints,” Iron Bull growled back. But Rowan noticed the edge was missing from his voice and it was also a jest. 

“Anyway, Softie, what are you going to do while we're off gallivanting?” Varric said. He threw a silver into the betting pool.

“Sit pining for your return so I may laugh again,” Rowan said dramatically. He smirked at that. Sera snorted. “I'm being made Josephine's assistant so I have to learn all about politics and high class snooty such and such.”

“Better you than me,” Varric confirmed. He, Sera, and Dorian laid out their cards. Varric took the pot.

“I thought you'd be more excited about playing the courts seeing as you're from an affluent family,” Bull said. He leaned forward, ready for the next deal. 

Rowan almost snorted. “Me? Affluent? Yeah, that'd be nice.”

“Well, you didn't get the name 'Softie' because we like being oxymoronic,” Dorian pointed out. 

“Yeah, just regular moronic,” she couldn't help shoot back. Dorian nearly glared. “But I see what you mean. Comparatively, no, my family wasn't rich. Average, I'd say. They were never involved in politics either so I avoided all that. But we're also talking about the wealthiest country in the world with advanced machines at their disposal. I know how it looks to you guys, but where I come from it's not anything special. Not to say I'm against learning about Orlais. I think it could be fun. I just won't be going in on a high horse already.”

Sera laughed. “High horse. That's a good one.”

“Let's get back to the game here, guys,” Varric said. “Pay attention, Softie. We're dealing you in next round.”

“I don't get a say?” Rowan said with a smile. 

“Not when we're leaving tomorrow,” Dorian said, considering his cards. “We're determined to spend the evening actually having fun.”

“No complaints here,” Rowan said.

“If we're going to have fun, we need more drinks,” Bull pointed out. 

They played late into the evening. When it was time to part ways, Rowan almost wished the morning wouldn't come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry if I got any of the information on the Fade wrong. Feel free to correct. I used what I knew from Inquisition and fudged the rest. 
> 
> Also, I couldn't find a word for traveler in elven so I made one up. >.>


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone that's read and enjoyed this so far :D I appreciate the kudos. This chapter is a bit shorter than I would like, but it got to a good stopping point. And that leaves more room for next chapter when . . . things should happen >.> *cue evil maniacal laughter or something*

Rowan didn't wake early enough to see them off. Her first morning without them was colored by her disappointment. But she had a job to do now. So with that responsibility in mind, Rowan took over Dorian's space on the second floor of the rotunda. 

In the beginning she tried to write down every word she didn't know as she read. After filling over two pages, and remembering she was supposed to be reading for content and not language, she gave that up and absorbed what she could despite her lacking vocabulary. She learned. Her reading improved. 

She began to approach Josephine with questions: questions about The Game, about this noble or that family. Soon they were spending evenings together going over the things she could not grasp from her readings. More than that, Josephine was the first to ask who Rowan was, what she'd been before coming to Thedas. 

Rowan understood Maxwell's position: he was the leader of a growing empire of sorts. He had little time to spare on chatting and his interest in Rowan was that of a problem solver. Dorian, too, kept from asking her personal questions, and as she got to know him Rowan knew it was because he didn't want to upset her. Instead he drew her attention to the present and joked about what he could. He didn't understand it was cathartic for her to remember the past and what she'd had. No one besides them knew her well enough to feel comfortable asking those kinds of questions. Except Cole. Rowan was convinced she'd accidentally scarred him with visions of her world.

So Josephine became a fast friend. And Rowan learned how to translate some of the indescribable things from home into words someone here could understand. There was a comfort in being able to explain what she missed, and Josephine was willing to listen. 

But it wasn't enough. There were still those nights, the late times when darkness crept into her chest and the loneliness threatened to consume her sanity. Those were the nights she clutched her dead phone to her chest in mockery of what was. It didn't do much, but it was familiar, and most nights it was just what she needed to fall into fitful sleep. 

Not this night. She tossed restlessly for what felt like hours. Skyhold was unusually quiet, with no pounds of the hammer rebuilding the fort or bustle of people, whether noble or not. Even the late night drinkers were silent. 

Finally she flung off the covers and slipped on her boots. She first tried to read, but her focus was too errant to reign in. So she grabbed what looked like a bottle of wine from the kitchen and took a walk. 

Rowan ended up on the battlements again, almost where she'd spoken with Solas a few weeks before. The wine, as it turned out, was not wine at all, but whiskey. The first drink she choked and coughed at the surprising strength of it. Rowan counted it as a blessing of fate. Her descent from the real world would be faster this way. 

She spent a long time alone, looking up and out at the mountains. She still wasn't used to them. But her mind was on other things and if someone had been there to ask, she couldn't have pinned down exactly what. Her thoughts were everywhere and nowhere, and most of all turned towards home. 

“Trouble sleeping?” 

Rowan blamed the alcohol and the wind that she didn't hear him coming. Still, she felt safe enough in Skyhold that she didn't have a strong reaction to the voice. She nodded to Cullen and lifted her partially empty bottle in some kind of salute. “You?”

The man sighed and scratched a hand at the back of his neck. “I have a hard time some nights. Walking the perimeter usually helps but . . .”

Rowan offered him the bottle. The commander took it with a shrug and a smile, and leaned against the stone wall as he took a drink. He cleared his throat several times afterward and handed it back to Rowan. The woman grinned. 

“So what's keeping you awake?” he ventured. 

Rowan tipped the bottle back again. The hot burn kept her mind from the biting air. “Thinking about my kids.”

“You . . . you have children?” he asked carefully. 

Rowan laughed. “No, I mean my students. I was a teacher for years. I was thinking about the class of children I left behind.”

“Oh, yes. I see,” Cullen said. “What did you teach?”

“Language. Their government paid people like me to leave our home country and teach our language. It was considered an investment since the country I came from was very wealthy. But it was across a great ocean on the other side of the world. I hadn't seen my family in years but the children I taught gave me the comfort I needed. What about you?” Rowan said. 

“I left my family to join the templars when I was thirteen. They became my family. Now the Inquisition is.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Rowan nearly chided.

“What? Leaving? It's not. But having a purpose, a direction, eases the doubt,” he explained. “That's what you had with those children, wasn't it? A purpose.”

“Yes, but I always knew I could go home, that I would go home. Now I won't. Some nights it just hurts. That's all.”

“I understand,” Cullen said softly. “I forget. From what I understand of your world, it seems much softer than ours.”

“Yes and no. I'd never seen war, that's true. But isolation is easy there, and people don't come together as readily as they do here. I am of a generation drowning in cynicism and questions of purpose and identity. The life is easier, yes, but I think physical luxury comes with its own set of problems,” Rowan said.

“I've thought that myself when looking at Orlais. Is it similar, do you think?”

“From what I can gather, I think so. That scramble for drama and intrigue in place of meaning. It's very similar,” Rowan said. She hadn't come out here expecting some kind of philosophical discussion. She took another swig as a frown pulled at her lips. 

“Tell me a story,” she said after a short silence.

Cullen raised a brow at her demand. “Why?”

“I like stories. They're a comfort and they help me understand people,” Rowan said. The whiskey had softened her lips and brought out her tactless side.

He rubbed the back of his neck again. “Most of my stories aren't good for a night like this but . . . when I was a boy my sister would always beat me at chess. One time I convinced my brother to hide up in a tree over where we were playing and distract her. I hadn't thought it through. He threw acorns at her head and rustled the branches. I almost won that time. But he fell. Broke his arm. I realized it was my folly that hurt him. He listened to me and I misused that. It helped me choose to become a templar. If I was in a place of authority, I needed to use it to help, to uphold the trust that was given me, not twist it for my purpose.”

Rowan slid to the ground, sitting against the battlement. “Thank you.”

Cullen nodded and looked out over the mountains she'd been staring at earlier. 

“I kicked my brother in the balls once,” Rowan blurted. Cullen stared, then burst into laughter that rung against the stone walkways. 

“I was ten or so,” she explained. “He kept playing my favorite game without me and wouldn't let me join in. I'd heard that it hurt guys but I didn't know how much until he was on the floor.”

“Did he retaliate?” Cullen asked with a grin.

“No, but my dad punished me. My brother isn't the fighting type so he just took it. I've apologized a few times over the years though. So.” Rowan shrugged. 

“I'm glad your relationship didn't suffer for it.”

“Me too,” she smiled. Rowan stood, trying her best not to look drunk. “Thanks, Cullen. I think I'll be able to sleep now.”

“Me as well. Light conversation is always good for turning your mind from yourself,” he said. 

Rowan agreed and wished him goodnight. She did sleep, and she dreamt of shaken trees and children's laughter. 

It was still two weeks before the Inquisitor's scheduled return when Rowan finished her readings. Josephine then taught her about the proceedings in the war room, letting her sit in as she, Cullen, and Leliana discussed everything of importance to the Inquisition. The ambassador also taught her how to deal with the nobles and guests of the Inquisition. Rowan sat back and watched several times as Josephine played the diplomatic game. Rowan knew that game. She'd played it before with coworkers and bosses in Japan. She told Josephine as much and the woman was happy for her experience. 

So Rowan was placed in charge of greeting and welcoming guests to Skyhold. Apparently it took a great deal off of Josephine's shoulders. She was just glad they trusted her with the work. 

But there were still a lot of things Rowan didn't know about Thedas. Her experience with one of the guests proved that. 

They were a small troupe, only six of them, and they looked like woodsmen rather than soldiers. Rowan waited at the gate to greet them. They were there to meet with Cullen to discuss a mutual need to defend their territory in the Freemarches. They were elves and she might have thought of Legolas from Lord of the Rings with their bows and long hair if it wasn't for the tattoos they adorned. And they all looked so thin and wiry Rowan wondered if they ate enough.

“Welcome to Skyhold,” Rowan greeted. 

“Andaran atish'an,” their leader said. She didn't miss the hint of malice in his eye. She didn't know that language, and she was convinced he was mocking her for it. 

“I will show you to your quarters. Ser Cullen is set to meet with you after you enjoy supper and rest from your long travels,” Rowan said. She hoped him using that language was a show and at least one of them could understand her. 

“You assigned us quarters?” he frowned. 

Rowan flinched, but held her grimace at his unhappy tone. “If this displeases you, we can work to arrange something more to your liking.”

“We would not be bound under roof like the shem. If you have nothing else, we will stay in the courtyard.”

They _wanted_ to sleep outside? Alright, she could work with that. She was expecting them to complain and say they needed a whole wing of the fort, like some of the nobles had tried to do. “We do have a garden if you prefer. It is slightly removed and would offer more privacy.”

“Then lead.” The elf crossed his arms. They followed Rowan silently. 

She had to talk her way into getting everyone to leave the gardens. The elves seemed happy with the arrangement, and the man she spoke with gave her a nod of acknowledgement before she left to inform Cullen of their arrival. 

The encounter brought questions to mind, things she hadn't thought of. It wasn't until the next day that Josephine had time to indulge her.

“I wanted to ask about our elven guests,” Rowan started. 

Josephine sat back and sipped at her glass of wine. The two had started meeting on one of the balconies when the conversations started becoming chats more than dialogues. “Did they give you trouble? The dalish can be difficult to deal with.”

“Not really. Not worse than some of the Orlesians, anyway,” Rowan smiled. “But I was wondering. I don't know much about it, but they don't look like either Sera or Solas, or any of the other elves here, for that matter.”

“Sera is a city elf. She was born into human culture and doesn't care for her heritage, like most of the elves here. The dalish are very proud of their elven roots, sometimes too much. They take great pains to preserve what they can, though even they know they are often unsuccessful,” the ambassador said. 

Rowan frowned. “Wait, so the elves are losing their culture? Why?”

“It's a very long story. They were enslaved for centuries, then after they were freed their land was taken from them again, so they say. They do not trust humans and the way some city elves are treated proves their distrust. It's a complicated matter,” Josephine trailed off. 

“Do you have any books you'd recommend?” Rowan asked. That was always her answer. For being so far behind her expectations in so many ways, Thedas at least had a large collection of books. It was a relief and a comfort. 

“Of course. And when they return, I'm sure Solas will have recommendations for you as well.”

Rowan frowned. “You said Sera was a city elf but Solas isn't, is he?”

“Solas is . . . no, I don't think he is. I don't know. He keeps to himself and I never asked. He's definitely not dalish either,” Josephine said. 

“How do you know?”

“All dalish have those tattoos you saw,” she explained. “Besides, no dalish I've ever known has gone without saying so. Even if he is reserved, Solas would have mentioned it.”

“Maybe I'll ask him, then,” Rowan smiled. She tried to imagine those tribal tattoos on the bald elf's face but couldn't quite conjure the image. Still, Josephine gave her the materials she asked for and Rowan was grateful for her help.

With her new duties, Rowan didn't have as much free time to read and study as she used to. She still scurried to her room or to the second floor of the rotunda most nights to bury deep into the ancient histories of this world. She learned about Arlathan and Halamshiral, about the Tevinter Imperium, about Andraste and the slave uprising. It was captivating, more interesting than her own history had ever been, and sometimes she would fall asleep in Dorian's chair only to wake with a sore neck and hazy dreams of ancient battles. 

She was drawn in, much like she once was in middle school when she found a book on Japanese history in the Edo period. It began a decade long look into a culture and a people that seemed so far from her own. That desire sprung in her again and Rowan began to seek out as much information as she could grasp. 

It was familiar, and it almost made her forget.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the positive feedback. I'm so glad you're enjoying this story! I apologize for not updating in awhile, but I'm getting back in the swing of things and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. Thanks for stopping by! <3

_An electronic chime sounded in the small shop as Rowan slid the door open. It was a bit warmer inside than out, and the sun lit up the front of the room from behind the glass._

_“Irasshaimase,” the clerk greeted from his station at the counter. She had gotten so used to that particular look of panic in his eyes that she barely noticed it anymore._

_“Hai, ohayou gozaimasu.” The clerk visibly relaxed on seeing he wouldn't be dealing with an ignorant foreigner._

_He smiled again. “Otetsudai sasete itadakimashouka?”_

_“Uun, daijoubu desu.” Rowan waved her hand with a little bow to appease him. She turned to look over the wares._

_It was quiet here. She was having a hard time remembering how she found the place. A mountain, wasn't it? Not a well traveled path if she recalled. The clerk seemed kind though. And they had what she was looking for._

_Her mother loved antiques. Rowan would search for suitable items to send back to the States; trinkets and dolls, broken things that were lovingly restored to sell. Her eye caught on several things, items her mother would like, but it was wrapped in a haze – poor light and soft edges blurred by memory. Nothing substantial, nothing real. She wasn't walking anymore. She wasn't choosing. The clerk was gone. It was Rowan and the mirror._

_Stretched floor to ceiling and designed for a king, all intricate gold carved with skill. It reflected her brown curls and round nose with a blue tint that felt otherworldly. It was beautiful and terrible, none of that weight lessened by the great crack marring it from one top corner to the floor. She touched it before she wanted to. Then heat blossomed through skin, a great pull to her bones. Light, dark, turned to nothing, then everything, and-_

Knock, knock, knock. 

Rowan tore out of her dream at the beckoning sound at her door. She blinked, shifted, regained herself, and rolled from the bed to answer the call. The fire she left burning in the hearth was cold ash now. She was shivering by the time she opened the door. 

“I'm sorry to wake you early, Lady Rowan, but Lord Haberna wishes to speak with you as soon as you are available. He says it's urgent,” the servant woman, Lily, said as if she'd had more than enough of Haberna's 'urgent' requests. Rowan couldn't blame her. The lord had been a pain in everyone's side since his arrival three days prior. 

“Thank you, Lily. You may tell him I'll be on my way shortly. But no need to rush,” Rowan winked. Lily gave her a grateful smile and left. 

The door closed softly. Rowan immediately set to rekindling the fire in her room. It was barely dawn, but the light from her only window was thankfully enough to see by. Her focus didn't stay on her task for long.

That dream. She couldn't remember much of it, the vague images already slipping from her mind, but the broken mirror stood out like a beacon. What was it? The fact that she dreamt at all was worth noting. She couldn't recall having a single dream in the last three or so months. Rowan hadn't thought much of it until now, until she experienced one and was reminded of the oddity. 

A gentle throb was pulling at the back of her head. For those precious few moments after waking, her constant headache was vanquished. It was back, not that she had enough time without it to hope, but the fact that it dissipated for even a second after all her time in Thedas gave her pause. That mirror. It meant something. She remembered it so it had to be important. 

She would bring it up with Maxwell when he returned. For now she had her duties to attend to. So Rowan freshened up at the water basin. The lotion Cole had given her was all but gone now. She applied it sparingly to the chapped skin that needed it – the cold mountain air treated her terribly – to ration out what remained. Then she dressed in the deep green outfit Josephine provided her when her duties began. It carried the emblem of the Inquisition, since she was now an ambassador of sorts, and kept her warm enough to function.

She knew the path to the guest quarters well now. In fact she knew all of Skyhold to a degree. The place was like a small town behind stone walls. She'd visited forts before back on Earth – historic relics, lessons on conquest and war – but the empty and decrepit buildings were nothing compared to the bustling towers of her current home. Every day there was a new section of Skyhold built up from the wreckage it had been, and every day it felt more like a refuge than a ruin. 

Rowan knocked on the door to Haberna's quarters and received a short 'Enter'. She did so and found the nobleman standing over the small round table. Several letters with wax seals and ornate handwriting were spread out for him to look over. 

“You asked for me?” she said. 

“Lady Rowan.” He turned, taking on that ridiculous orlesian stance that always made her think they were about to start a dance. “I do not know what you Fereldens take for hospitality, but in Orlais we know that welcoming a guest and denying them their due is a sign of a host that cannot or will not play properly.”

Rowan gave a little bow, letting nothing show on her face. “You have truly been inconvenienced, Lord Haberna, and the Inquisition is deeply grateful for your patience. I am not Ferelden myself, so I do not fully know their method. However, perhaps you can suggest a better method for the Inquisitor to travel.”

“What?”

“Other than horseback, of course. There is only so far the poor beasts can travel in a day. I was hoping you would know of some easier, faster way to travel. Perhaps a machine. Some vehicle, like a cart but powered by lightening and heated water,” she suggested.

The lord grunted at her play. “Bah, this is useless. You will notify me as soon as the Inquisitor arrives.”

“The moment he steps through the gate,” Rowan agreed. She won that round, at least. 

The man hummed disinterestedly and picked up a hand mirror she hadn't seen on the table. It caught the sunlight from the window at just the right angle and blinding white glanced across Rowan's vision. She blinked. Her eyes opened to an off white ceiling, fluorescent lights, a low electronic beep beside her right ear. 

Blink. The guest room in Skyhold. Haberna. Morning sun and dust dancing in the light. She lost her legs, felt herself fall. 

Blink. The feel of coarse sheets, stiff limbs, something in her dry nose. 

She tumbled from one vision to the next, back and forth, unsure of what was real and unable to move in either place. One moment it was Josephine's face and being carried through stone hallways. The next it was hospital lights, a mumble of Japanese, a hand over her own. 

No, that was real. She knew as she phased from one to the next. She fought against the next shift with everything in her being, fought to move, to make herself stay. 

The beeping. An EKG. It fluttered faster, growing shrill in her ear as she tried to ground herself in the hospital. There was a shout in Japanese. Get the doctor. Something's wrong.

“Rowan. Oh, my baby,” her mother said. A hand smoothed her face. Warm drops on her arm. 

I'm here mom, she wanted to say. Instead, Rowan blinked.

“Rowan!” Dorian called in the soft firelight. He was still dirty and obviously tired. She would have teased him. But no. She didn't need to be there. She needed to be home. 

“Move,” Solas said, curt and hard at work. A green glow of magic invigorated under her skin. 

No! she thought. She didn't want to be saved. She wanted to go back. 

And there it was again. Beeping in her ear, cold air on her skin, voices in a language she knew from another world.

“I'm sorry. Please wait outside,” a woman said in English, Japanese accent thick on her tongue. 

“No, no. I'm staying,” Rowan's mother said. But her warmth was gone. In its place was the firm, quick touch of a doctor's hand. 

“Please wait outside,” the woman repeated more forcefully. 

Rowan gasped, pain exploding in her chest. She flailed, hardly realizing she had her own body again. Then she was crying, warning them in whatever tongue her body could remember. 

“Don't let me go. Not back. Not there. Please. Please,” she shouted. But it was really only a whisper of sound between shallow breaths. The nurses tried to still her limbs, one offering soothing words to calm her. 

It's okay. Just calm down. We're going to help you.

But her body was failing her. She couldn't breathe anymore. A jolt passed under her skin. Her vision was already black. She felt a great shove to her navel. Then it was silent. 

A moment passed like days. How long she floated in the void, she didn't know. Rowan kept trying to reach out, reach back to herself, to reality, anything that would ground her. It was simply her and the nothing. Finally, finally, after being unable to tell up from down or anything in between, she felt her own body, too heavy for herself. She'd been sleeping too long. Her eyes cracked open to soft sunlight. Her fingers were nearly numb with cold, sending shivers up her arms. The rest of her body was pleasantly warm under thick blankets.

“. . . It wouldn't fit,” Cole said. 

Her eyes made the long, slow journey to see him in the chair on her left side. His feet were drawn up to his chest, hands curled around his knees. She meant to ask him what he meant but it came out a croaked grunt. It was then she realized where she was. And where she was not.

“No,” Rowan groaned. She shifted, then rolled herself out of the bed. Cole did nothing to stop her. She fell onto all fours and tried to pull herself up from the cold stone. “No, no, no.”

“Rowan,” a soft voice said, wrapping a firm grip around her arm to help her stand. Solas. She glanced at him long enough to see the darkness under his eyes before her vision swam with fresh tears. 

“No, it's not right,” she gasped, fingers twisting in his worn sweater. “It's not fair. I was there. I was there, why am I here?”

“What happened?” the elf asked. 

“It's not fair,” she sobbed. By now she was leaning her full weight against him. His hands kept a grip on her upper arms, holding her up. “I was home. I just want to go home. Why won't it let me?”

“You returned? How? We saw you here the entire time you were ill,” Solas said.

And she didn't even care. It didn't matter how. All that mattered was getting back. It had been so close, right within her grasp, and she had lost it. Rowan buried her face in his shoulder at the fresh memory of her mother's voice. She'd been right there and Rowan hadn't been able to do anything. 

“Why? Why can't I just go home? I don't want to be here. I hate it. I hate this place. I don't – I can't – I can't – please –“ Her desperate tears stopped the rest. She stilled when Solas moved, wrapped his arms around her in a tight, enveloping embrace. She cried harder at the gesture. She cried until there was nothing left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irasshaimase - Welcome
> 
> Hai, ohayou gozaimasu. - Good morning.
> 
> Otetsudai sasete itadakimashouka? - Can I help you with anything? (polite)
> 
> Uun, daijoubu desu. - No, it's alright.


End file.
